


Aggression

by doctortrekkie



Series: Break Me Down and Build Me Up [19]
Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: (Not), Cheve Plotline Finale, Gen, Iago is BACK and he's just as much of a jerk as usual, Rebellion, Survivor Guilt, War, Wilhelm is here and he's my boi, because that will be Important, can I tag this war?, friendly and plot important reminder that Leo's mother is Chevois, fun time all around for everyone, insert 'oh yeah it's all coming together' meme, it's Nohrian aggression for free, it's One Battle, poor Xander with that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21574828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctortrekkie/pseuds/doctortrekkie
Summary: Cheve’s cries ofNo moredemand Nohr’s retribution. An army gathers, suddenly and unexpectedly placed under the command of its grief-stricken crown prince. There is no more hope of a peaceful resolution; military retaliation is the only way to bring the wayward territory back into line, or so they are told.Divided between the land of his father and that of his mother, Leo can only wonder if Nohr can survive what it’s starting to become.And if he can live with the role in it he himself is slowly but surely being twisted to fit.(Takes place a year and a half before the beginning of Fates and two weeks afterCenturies;January 635)
Relationships: Leon | Leo/My Unit | Kamui | Corrin
Series: Break Me Down and Build Me Up [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1049543
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	1. We've Never Really Had Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Leo has concerns and Iago fits the definition of several words that are not family-friendly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! Not much in the way of trivia for this chapter so I'll leave the end notes blank. In the meantime, enjoy today's [theme!](https://youtu.be/ddnNPKx1ERs) (with the friendly reminder that even if you do sound a bit silly, you can totally fit "It's Nohrian" into the same syllables as "American")

_Look at the end, covered in blood, only silence, what’s to be done? Murder machine, death is routine, what’s the reason?_

**Northern Fortress, outside Windmire, Nohr**

Leo knew—pragmatically—that riding alone from Castle Krakenburg to the Northern Fortress in the waning minutes of midnight during the last bitter days of January was, strictly speaking, very high on the list of stupid things he could potentially do.

Still, without quite recollecting how he’d gotten there, he found himself momentarily blinded by the lantern light appearing in the outer gateway of the fortress, wondering to himself if he’d descended into the throes of temporary insanity.

“Lord Leo?”

Jakob’s usually pristine appearance was nowhere to be seen, testament to the obscenity of the hour. The butler’s hair was unbound, his lantern sending him into unkempt, eerie relief.

“Has something happened?” Jakob continued as Leo swung from Hati’s back.

“Yes,” Leo said. “No. Well, not yet.” He let out a carefully measured breath, extending Hati’s reins in Jakob’s direction. “I know I usually take care of him, but could you put him up? I need to speak with Corrin.”

“Of course,” Jakob said, looking rather affronted at the implication he couldn’t or wouldn’t care for the prince’s mount. “Shall I send for Lady Corrin?”

After a moment, Leo shook his head. “No, I’ll go meet with her. No point causing any more alarm than I’m sure I already have. Thank you, Jakob.”

Without waiting for a response, Leo strode across the courtyard, ignoring the affronted squeal Hati directed after him.

The familiar hallways of the Northern Fortress opened up before him, the thick stone walls sheltering from the biting midnight winds even if the air couldn’t quite be called _warm_ in these bitter depths of winter. Memories lined every turn and corridor—a spat with Elise there, a pinch from Corrin there, Camilla’s smothering hug in that doorway…

Just because Leo _lived_ in Castle Krakenburg didn’t mean it had ever been home.

His chest had a knot in it that made breathing an effort by the time he rapped his knuckles on Corrin’s door and it wasn’t from the staircases he’d climbed to get there. It was several moments before she answered; Leo felt a flash of guilt at the bleariness in Corrin’s eyes that betrayed the fact that he’d woken her.

She blinked at his face, weariness trading out for alarm. “Leo? What are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night, and—gosh, aren’t you leaving for Cheve tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Leo answered to the last, his voice rougher than he’d expected. It was the only thing he could manage to get out.

When a long moment passed with no word, Corrin lifted a hand to his cheek, then murmured, “Gosh, Leo, you’re half-frozen. Come on.” Without waiting for an answer, she tugged on his elbow, pulling him into her room and shutting the door behind him.

Neither one of them spoke again until Corrin had thrown a thick fur in Leo’s general direction and set him in front of the fire in her hearth that was slowly flickering back to life under her ministrations. With that accomplished, she settled across from him, ivory hair glinting in the fire’s glow.

“Well?” she finally said.

On any other night—or morning, Leo thought wryly—he might have teased her about her abrupt probing, but at that moment he had neither the heart nor the time to bother. “Duke Wilhelm of Diabola arrived today,” he finally said in a low voice. “Bringing news of potential activity across the Bottomless Canyon.”

“The Hoshidan side,” Corrin said.

“Yes.” Leo glanced away. “Father’s ordered it defended, of course. We can’t have Hoshidan forces crossing the border while we’re busy in Cheve. But the only one of us that could make it there in a reasonable timeframe is… Camilla.”

Corrin nodded, her voice soft—coaxing but not quite prodding just what it was that had brought him to her in the middle of the night. “Camilla was supposed to go to Cheve with you.”

Leo nodded.

“Then… are you going alone?”

He shook his head. “No. It’s not my command, but even if it were—and Dusk Dragon help us if that were the case—Wilhelm will be there. Iago, as well, for all that my phrasing that as a benefit feels rather ironic. It’s that…” Leo splayed a hand over his face, fighting to keep the shuddering agitation that had driven him to her door from his voice. “Gods, Corrin, he’s ordered Xander to go.”

Such an excruciatingly long moment passed that Leo forced himself to look up again, finding Corrin’s face painted in a stir of confusion and concern. “Okay,” she finally said. “And?”

The realization struck him, pained and abrupt. “Corrin? Has Xander _been_ to see you since Asmund and Viola died?”

She shook her head.

“...Then you haven’t seen him,” Leo said, looking back at the fire again. “I… all right.” Some part of him said that he shouldn’t have come, shouldn’t be throwing this burden on her; but it was smaller than usual, that piece that fought to shelter her.

“What haven’t you told me?” Corrin asked, in a voice that still somehow managed to avoid carrying even an ounce of accusation.

Leo shook his head once more. “Xander… has hardly been himself,” he finally said. “And one would be hard-pressed to blame him for it, coming out of a battle like the one he did. To lose one’s whole company, and two dear friends besides… perhaps a Faceless could charge on ahead into another battle without looking back, but hardly anything more human than that. He just… he just needs some _time;_ the healers have done all they can for him, but a few weeks is hardly enough recovery, and Father should _know_ that and not just _send him off into the very place he lost them—”_

Leo cut himself off abruptly, realizing just far his tone had escalated without him even noticing. Clearing his throat, he closed his eyes and continued.

“I’m just afraid… if Xander has to go off to Cheve… that he’s going to get himself killed.”

For the first time, it seemed Corrin had finally registered the gravity of what he was saying. Tugging her lower lip between her teeth, she said, “But… you’ll still be there, right? So… you can keep an eye on him?”

 _Assuming we’re anywhere near each other,_ Leo thought. _Assuming I can manage to watch his back as well as my own._ “Right,” he echoed in a tone that wasn’t nearly as reassuring as he’d hoped it to be.

Finally, Corrin broke the silence with a soft sigh. “When do you have to leave for Cheve?”

“In the morning,” he said dully. “I really should head back.”

She shook her head at that. “Leo, it’s one in the morning, don’t be stupid. Your bed here’s made up already anyway, and someone can wake you early enough to get back in time.”

Some piece of him thought to protest even as he fought to move his own heavy limbs and even keeping his eyes open was becoming a battle of its own. “...All right,” he finally said.

“...Leo?” Corrin whispered as he got to his feet.

“Yes?”

She paused, glancing away to draw in a breath before looking back at him. “Be safe.”

 _I will,_ Leo thought automatically, even as the words stuck in his throat.

~~~

**North of the Chevois Border Wall, Nohr**

A trip that took hours by wyvern and three days on horseback lasted nearly a week with the bulk for the Nohrian army at one’s back.

They set up camp not far off the horizon of the old border wall, as if they needed stealth—or even had a semblance of it to begin with. Cheve knew they were coming, and were as likely as not already aware of their presence.

Besides that, as soon as night fell, January’s bitter chill forced them to give their foes a flaming beacon to their location.

Their fires struggled valiantly against the sleet and freezing rain that threatened them, though Leo’s only defense against the same was the shove himself as deeply as physically possible into his coat. No doubt Hati would be in the foulest of moods by morning if he had to stand in this all night, blanketed or no.

“Iago,” he called, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice as he squinted against the flickering glow from inside the sorcerer’s tent. When he got no answer, he sighed and repeated, “Iago, you’re _late.”_

Still no response came to Leo, leaving him to huff once more and vainly attempt to brush his sodden fringe out of his eyes. Why was it _he_ was the one who had to fetch their wayward royal tactician when he got it into his head to dodge important meetings?

 _Ridiculous,_ he thought, repeating _“Iago,”_ once more as he shifted the tent flap and ducked inside.

Once he crossed through the opening, however, Leo pulled up short and crossed his arms. Despite the lit candle in the corner of the tent, Iago himself was nowhere to be found.

 _Well, fine then. You can damn well miss the meeting if you’re going to be like this,_ Leo thought, striding over to at least douse the candle like a _responsible_ person before he left.

He paused a few steps away, tilting his head slightly at the sight of a heavy, leather-bound tome that seemed to barely be holding itself together at the seams, tucked away in the corner.

It took Leo a moment to mentally translate the ancient Nohrian on the cover, and a moment more to check it again once he had. Satisfaction that he hadn’t made an error gave way to confusion at the subject title.

Was Iago studying _necromancy?_

While Leo had skimmed the surface of that mercurial—and to some, ethically questionable—art, as he had most other forms of magic, a text of such length and age had never crossed his studies before.

Before he could decide whether it would be worth the risk to investigate further, a familiar drawl reached him.

“Why, Prince Leo. What an… unexpected surprise.”

Leo turned back, fighting the double-beat of his heart and the feeling he’d been caught snooping. “Iago,” he said coolly, still managing to keep his tone level.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Iago asked, quirking his head.

“Xander and Wilhelm called a meeting,” Leo replied. “Twenty minutes ago.”

“Ah,” Iago said, his tone almost genuinely repentant. “I remember now. My apologies, Your Highness, I suppose it slipped my mind.” He bowed a little, opening one arm to gesture out the tent flap. “After you.”

Leo tipped his head and strode for the opening.

“And for the record,” Iago added in a low tone as he passed. “I occasionally keep experiments running that can prove… _unstable_ in incapable hands. You would do well to keep out of my private quarters in the future.”

Ignoring the flush that crept up his neck, Leo replied mildly, “Duly noted.”

~~~

“The last time we did this,” a voice drifted through the air, “we took a three-pronged approach. Your father spearheaded the main gate with the cavalry, Iago kept back with the mages and archers for covering fire, and I led the aerial forces.”

“I’ve studied the battle,” Xander’s voice came. “You had trouble with Cheve’s own ranged fighters, no? There’s too much open ground between the woods and the wall to offer the infantry any cover—ah, good, Leo, you’re back.”

“Your Highness,” Iago interjected smoothly before Leo had the chance to actually answer his brother. From where he stood bent over a table with a large map spread over it, Xander nodded in acknowledgment before Iago added, “And Your Grace.”

The tent’s other occupant—one Duke Wilhelm of Diabola—waved an absent hand as the well-worn frown lines in his face deepened. He then lifted said hand to scrub through his hair, close-cropped locks that might have been described as the traditional ‘salt and pepper’ had the original shade been closer to black. As it was, perhaps a more accurate description of the red-going-gray might have been ‘salt and ginger.’

“Didn’t think we’d end up here again, eh Iago?” Wilhelm asked, though he didn’t look up from the map.

“It seems a pity all our hard work vanished so quickly,” Iago sighed. “In the old days it used to be a territory conquered by Nohr couldn’t so much as sneeze without asking the monarch permission for the better part of a century, and here we are after a mere two decades.”

Wilhelm frowned slightly at that, muttering something along the lines of “Diabola can attest to that.”

Leo paused, flipping through memories of Nohrian history from his earlier years. If he remembered correctly, it had been Wilhelm’s grandfather who had fallen to Leo’s great-grandmother, leading the once-profitable kingdom of Diabola to be absorbed into the greater Nohrian empire, her own monarchy reduced to dukedom.

“As far as strategy goes,” Iago finally continued, “unfortunately, Lord Xander, there’s little to be altered about the terrain. Our foes have the defensive advantage, indeed, but they tend to take _too_ much advantage. They spread themselves too thin, and a strong infantry—even one that has already sustained losses—is our best counter to their disadvantage.”

“Could that not be alleviated by a little mixing in the ranks?” Leo asked, speaking for the first time since he’d entered. “A handful of heavy-hitting mages in with the cavalry—dark knights, preferably, if they’re to keep up—would be a considerable boon to defense _and_ offense. Soften the walls themselves _and_ their army in places too risky for flyers.”

Silence fell for so long that Leo began to wonder if he’d made a tactical error so grave and so obvious that the other three were too confounded by his stupidity to form words. Just as panic began to set in, Wilhelm spoke up.

“That’s not a bad idea at all,” the duke mused. “It’s a very good one, in fact. Say, Iago, you sure we need you around?”

It took a moment for Leo to catch the fact that Wilhelm had just called Iago redundant, but Iago himself had no such delay. The sorcerer bristled briefly, finally letting out a ‘hmph’ and saying, “And just who would you put forward among our magical ranks for such a task?” he asked Leo. “Yourself?”

Leo chewed on the inside of his lip, pondering. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t be an _ill_ choice,” he finally said. “I fit the criteria of having a mount, and frankly, will the Chevois _expect_ to be facing both the divine weapons on the front lines? Brynhildr’s uniqueness alone is a massive asset in and of itself, especially considering our foes have very little in the way of mages in the first place to provide a defense against it—” He cut himself off before he began spouting off the increasingly impressive array of ideas regarding the use of Brynhildr now barraging him. “In short, yes, I would put myself forward. If you find the idea agreeable, Xander.”

Before the crown prince could answer, though, Iago spoke again, his eyes quite possible at the narrowest position Leo had ever seen them. “Risky,” he all but hissed.

Leo stared at him blankly. “How so?” he asked. “It’s less risky than the alternative, as far as I’m concerned—”

“How old are you, Lord Leo?” Iago interjected.

Failing to see the relevance of that, Leo nevertheless answered, “...Seventeen.”

“And how long have you wielded Brynhildr?”

“Three and a half years.”

“And do you suppose,” Iago continued, his voice growing more acidic by the word, “that is a very long time, when there are mages who have studied decades to brandish the spells of Ginnungagap and Excalibur on the battlefield?”

Hackles beginning to raise, Leo cut in, “I see not the relevance in comparing ordinary spells with one of the divine weapons—”

“And do you _suppose,”_ Iago snapped, “that we ought to place a literal child on the field ahead of those in our ranks who have spent their lives studying magic and tactics—merely because this child was born into such a position that he thinks he _need not_ work for the privilege?”

Too shocked to fully register his blood beginning to boil, all Leo managed to get out was a “How _dare—”_ before Wilhelm put a hand on his shoulder.

“Tone it down a notch, Iago,” the duke said in a low tone that all but taunted Iago to challenge him. “No one’s denying we have some very talented mages in our ranks, _or_ that our own second prince is among them.” He let out a sigh. “There _is_ an element of risk, but that’s true of any—”

“Petition to populate your division with mages of my choosing,” Iago interrupted, fixing his gaze on Xander. “And to take Lord Leo as my own second, owing to his age and inexperience.”

 _There’s no way Xander will stand for that,_ Leo thought hotly, already preparing his next thoughts on the matter when his brother answered.

“Permission granted, Iago.”

_What?_

A truly _insufferable_ smirk spread across Iago’s face. “Well,” he said. “That seems to be the gist of the tactics done, then. If anyone needs my expertise for anything else, I’ll be in my tent.” He tipped his head and added, “I expect you to report to me bright and early tomorrow, Your Highness.”

And with that, he ducked out of the tent.

Leo did his best not to gape after him.

After a long moment, Wilhelm coughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “If you’ve no need of me then, Lord Xander…?” he ventured.

Without looking up from the diagrams dotting the table, Xander shook his head. “You’re dismissed.”

Leo—with a fair bit more self-control than he’d really expected himself—managed nearly a minute of silence after the duke had left before he finally spoke.

“What the hell, Xander?”

“Your tone, Leo,” Xander corrected almost absently, still not looking up from the table.

“Oh, sorry, was it not outraged enough? I can fix that if you’d like.”

With a sigh that sounded more exhausted than exasperated, Xander said, “Iago has a valid point, despite his poor phrasing. You have done well against pockets of Faceless and bandits, Leo, but what we face tomorrow will prove to be a different beast entirely. I don’t wish to leave you over your head.”

“So you think I’m incompetent,” Leo said flatly.

“No, Leo,” Xander said, finally glancing up toward his brother. “I think you are very, _very_ competent, and I think you often take that for granted.”

 _That’s ironic,_ Leo thought, _since you never seem content to leave me to my competency._

“Get some rest tonight,” Xander said, returning his gaze once more to his work. “You will need it.”

Wordlessly, Leo left.


	2. No More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Iago goes to hell (or at least he is wished to do so).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for violence that has been fairly typical for the rest of the series, perhaps slightly worse, including burns and eye injury.

_Sick of the good dying first, too many more than it’s worth, how many mothers are mourning their brothers in silence?_

**Border Wall, on the edge of Cheve, Nohr**

There were three explanations, really.

The first was that Hati was a great deal more perceptive and intelligent than Leo gave him credit for, and had independently picked up on the fact that Iago was a scheming dastard who deserved the stallion’s disdain. The second was that Hati had caught on to the pre-battle tension in the air and had somehow managed to figure out that Iago had singlehandedly kept him from the heat of the fight and was now redirecting that inhibited bloodlust in the sorcerer’s direction.

The third, and only realistic option, was that Hati was already crabby from having spent the night in the freezing rain, he tended to hold a grudge against most other horses in general and other stallions in particular, and Iago’s equally ill-tempered gray had been giving him the stink-eye for the better part of half an hour by this point.

Despite the fact that Garmr was actually Hati’s sire, judging by the fact that Leo's destrier had sent the gray no less than four suspiciously open-mouth glares in the past twenty minutes revealed that Hati had no love lost for his father. The most ironic part, Leo thought, was that he’d been coming to mirror that sentiment himself of late.

He shook that borderline-treasonous thought from his head, squinting through the morning fog. The murk of the mist had quickly proved to be both a blessing and a curse, obscuring their army from both their enemies and themselves.

Hati’s bit squeaked as he mouthed it, quickly followed by the rhythmic and unpleasant scrape of his hoof against the half-frozen ground. “Ho,” Leo said in a low, descending tone, laying a hand to the stallion’s neck in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. “Just a minute,” he added under his breath, shooting Iago a sidelong glance.

“Steady, Your Highness,” the sorcerer said, almost absently as he fixed his gaze on the edge of the woods ahead of them. Leo couldn’t see Xander from where he was, but he could see the tail end of his elder brother’s rear line.

Several things happened before Leo could think of a retort to Iago, however. Hati finally seemed to tire of Garmr’s proximity, letting out a squeal and a sudden kick that held enough force it would have unseated a Leo of a few years ago. As it was, the prince did little more than roll his eyes at his mount’s antics, more worried about the sound carrying than any fear of a fall.

A flock of birds rose from the woods, cawing at the disturbance, but before Leo had more than a moment for his heart to drop with worry that Hati’s moodiness had just cost them their cover when the line ahead of them moved.

And, with a whisper on the wind, then a shout, the sound of battle came.

Iago waved his hand, almost lazily, gesturing their own men forward. “With me, Your Highness, if you would,” he said, an odd little smirk on his face.

~~~

Hati crested a hill that broke them free of the current wave of battle, rocking back onto his haunches into half a rear that gave Leo the clearest view of the battlefield he’d had yet, now that the early morning mist was beginning to burn away. The prince shifted Brynhildr to a one-handed grip, dropping his other hand to his mount’s knotted reins.

“What say you, then, Your Highness?” came Iago’s voice from behind, lurking ever-present as he had been the entire morning.

“The wall makes up for the lack of numbers,” Leo replied, glancing back. Niles, too, was at his back, though his retainer had spent the entire battle startlingly silent so far. “And it doesn’t seem we’re making much of a dent from down here.”

“Shall I signal for Duke Wilhelm’s forces, then?”

“Not unless you’d like arrows in half of them, no,” Leo replied in a clipped tone, wondering if it were worse for Iago to be testing him for just being deliberately obtuse. “We’ll just have to keep softening their archers from here, I suppose.”

 _The wall, though,_ he kept thinking. There had to be _some way_ to turn the wall against the Chevois, or at least neutralize it a little and let the Nohrians’ superior numbers sway the balance.

A crash of branches came from their left and Leo had a spell crackling on his fingertips before Hati had even swung to face it. He quickly doused it, though, at the sight of a familiar and unfortunate looking bay and the knight astride him.

“Silas,” Leo blurted, unease knotting in his stomach. Silas was supposed to be with _Xander,_ not coming to find Leo by himself—

“Lord Leo,” Silas said, a waver in his tone that only ratcheted Leo’s disquiet up another notch.

“What are you—” Leo began, only to find he couldn’t finish the sentence.

“It’s Lord Xander,” said Silas. The point of his lance shook a little as he wiped his other arm across his face. “He sent me to come find you, he—he’s been hurt—”

Some odd mix of fear and resignation rose with Leo—he’d _known_ this would happen, hadn’t he?—before he replied, “Where? Take me to him.”

“Ah ah _ah,”_ Iago interjected. “You’re to stay _here,_ Lord Leo. With _me.”_

Leo shot a glance back, eyeing Iago’s perpetual, _obnoxiously_ smug little smirk; then, deliberately, he caught Niles’s gaze and give the slightest of nods toward Silas.

Niles nodded in return and nudged his mare toward the knight.

Iago quirked a brow higher, then prodded, “Well?”

Leo looked away, deliberately gathering Hati’s reins in one hand before turning back to the sorcerer.

“Go to hell, Iago.”

With that, Hati launched into a canter as Silas spun Catnap back the way he’d come and Niles followed suit.

~~~

The front lines wavered and buckled under Cheve’s assault in a way that hadn’t reached Leo’s former position, leaving their impromptu trio ducking through the battle while Leo wondered if Iago had saved them a particularly cushy spot on purpose.

There wasn’t time to dwell on that thought, though, as they found themselves in a especially dense pocket of Nohrian soldiers that turned out to be, in fact, a line of protection around their downed crown prince.

A murmur went up from the grouping, a gap parting through them as Leo, Silas, and Niles approached.

 _I’m just afraid if Xander has to go off to Cheve that he’s going to get himself killed,_ Leo thought to himself once more, then did his best to forcibly shake that thought from his head. He swung from Hati’s saddle as the cluster grew too thick to pass through, the last of the soldiers making way as he braced himself for the worst.

Xander was conscious, which was better than Leo’s worst fears, though he had his head tipped back and his eyes closed. His legs were splayed at odd angles on the ground, though the extent of his injuries was difficult to discern when the metal of his armor—mostly over his left leg—was twisted and melted almost beyond recognition.

“Fire spell?” Leo murmured aside to Silas. He glanced over at Skoll, who as standing rather dejectedly not far away, his saddle hanging unevenly off one side and his girth all but burned through, hanging on by a single buckle that looked as though it might rip away at any moment.

“Almost point blank,” Silas whispered back.

That would have been their luck, Leo thought dryly, for one of Cheve’s handful of mages to have done such damage.

Apparently his words hadn’t been quite quiet enough, though, for Xander lifted his head and fixed a heavy gaze on him. “Leo,” he began, though whatever else he’d planned on saying was drowned out by the rise of an alarmed shout.

The spell came automatically, without Leo even having to bother opening Brynhildr, merely clapping a hand to the cover and drawing out the power for an incantation he’d memorized long ago. A tree sprang up ten feet behind Xander, clear of the other soldiers, just in time for the arrows headed their way to embed themselves into the bark with the patter of biting _thwacks._ The _problem,_ Leo thought bitterly, was that by clustering their soldiers into protective formation, they’d all but shouted to their enemy that there was something important amiss here.

Well, no sense in secrecy at this point, he thought, palming Brynhildr open once more, directing a stretch of earth to rise just beyond the newly-formed tree, shaping it into a wall that rose just over their heads. “So,” he said aside to Xander, somehow managing to keep his voice both biting and conversational, “any _particular_ reason you haven’t, perhaps, gotten off the field?”

Xander once more directed a potent stare at Leo, though the younger prince mainly avoided it under the guise of watching the enemy horizon. “Needed to give you your orders,” he rasped.

Leo resisted the urge to blow out a snort, shifting to peer around his barrier. “You could have sent a messenger, you know.”

“Not these orders,” Xander said. “Leo, I need you to take command.”

Leo froze.

Finally, he forced himself to look back at his brother, some part of him wanting to ask if he had hit his head. Was there any other explanation for the complete one-eighty Xander had pulled from the night before? “If you’re unfit for command,” he finally forced out, “it turns over to Duke Wilhelm. And next to Iago.”

“Unless I order to the contrary before leaving the field.” Xander’s gaze was still deadly serious, and Leo had the sinking realization that this was _happening._ “I need both Duke Wilhelm and Iago where they already are. Leo, you’re the only one I can afford to move.”

“...Xander, I—” Leo began before the dryness of his throat forced him to break off. There were so many others who were _infinitely_ more qualified, he thought—technically, even _Silas_ had seniority over Leo.

“Once you breach the wall, the battle is won,” Xander said. “They know it, or they would not fight so hard to keep us away.”

As if his words had been prophecy, the blast of another Fire spell crashed into Leo’s makeshift wall, splattering dirt as a chunk of it buckled. Leo bit back a curse, doing his best to shore the earth back up, but he could feel it wouldn’t hold the same strength as before.

“Leo,” Xander repeated, in a tone that booked no argument. “I rescind my command. The battle is yours.”

Leo took in one breath, then another, though neither on seemed to quite fill up his lungs. And, finally, he nodded.

“Silas, Niles, get him up on Hati and get him out of here,” he called over his shoulder, striding toward Skoll. There wasn’t time to change saddles, not with the complicated buckles and straps of full battle armor, and he’d rather take his own chances riding bareback than risking Xander further injury.

“As you wish, milord,” said Niles, quickly echoed by Silas’s, “Yes, sir!”

Skoll let out a low whicker as Leo approached, and to his credit, didn’t so much as flinch as the prince loosed the girth and let Xander’s now-ruined saddle fall to the ground. Leo vaulted onto his back in a single, smooth motion (which probably looked a lot more impressive to those watching who didn’t realize he’d boosted himself most of the way with Brynhildr), gathered his reins, and dropped the spell holding up his earth wall.

It was another wall he thought of now, though, urging his brother’s mount through the fray as he gestured the formerly assembled soldiers with him. The stones which built up the border wall were old and heavy, hewn together generations ago, and even the strongest of their spells were doing little to it.

There had to be _something_ he was overlooking, he thought. Here he was, at the front line where he’d wanted to be in the first place, and yet he was coming up blank. Surely he could use Brynhildr to his advantage—could he grow trees _inside_ the cracks in the stones, forcing them apart as the plant matter sprouted?

“Can we get closer?” he asked of the soldier nearest him. “I want to try something.”

~~~

Such a task was easier said than done.

It was the better part of a bloody, grueling hour before Leo’s forces ended up anywhere near enough for him to put his theory to the test. He’d sent soldiers back with orders to move Iago’s rear line up as soon as he’d taken command, yet such orders had not yet come to fruition.

Putting that thought aside—other than the thought he ought to send more messengers, in case his first group had fallen—he signaled to a squadron of archers and made one final push for the wall.

Brynhildr’s power rose to meet him as he scanned the wall. _There,_ he thought, eyes landing on a crack no wider than two of his fingers side-by-side. It reached all the way to the ground, though, and Leo called upon the earth beneath it.

For a moment, he thought it just might work. Branches of ash plugged the crack, stopping it tight for an instant before surging again, growing further, sending the crack another foot up the wall and doubling it in width.

And then, just as suddenly as it began, it stopped.

Brynhildr thrummed in Leo’s hands, feeling as though the tome itself was protesting as the tree quivered, pressing against the stone one more time before shrinking and withering.

“Oh, damn,” he muttered to himself, glancing from Brynhildr to the wall before he was forced to direct his attentions toward blocking a javelin headed for his shoulder.

 _Not enough power._ It seemed the stones were too old, too strong for even Brynhildr to break—at least with the amount of power Leo could afford channel into it without killing himself in the process.

It _had_ been a solid idea, he thought to himself, but perhaps only on a much smaller scale.

Or with a much bigger power source.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Leo paused, scanning the wall yet again—but this time, instead of looking for a crack, he oriented himself toward the front gate he and Camilla had entered the last time he’d been there.

 _This,_ on the other hand, just might work.

“Hold this point,” he ordered the soldier beside him, then wheeled Skoll around and sent him surging back down the battlefield.

He wished he’d had the time to explain his plan—he was courting the potential of looking like an utter craven for the next few minutes, turning his back like that—then shook the thought from his head, focusing on the task at hand.

Momentarily, a sense of unease washed over him, just as a blast of cold air blew into his back. Leo’s first thought was a badly aimed Fimbulvetr spell, though some part of him didn’t think that was _quite_ right as Skoll surged beneath him and he struggled to maintain his seat on the stallion’s bare, sweat-slicked hide.

Once he’d rebalanced himself, he twisted back with Brynhildr at the ready, only to find the rush of air had come from the backwash of a wyvern’s wings.

He hesitated again, perhaps a fraction too long before it came clear the draconian beast was not bearing Nohrian colors, and the spell that came from his fingers flew slightly off-kilter. The wyvern still cried out, struggling to fly as Brynhildr fought to drag the creature down to the earth of its domain, but Leo’s spell had only caught onto the wyvern’s left half; with a different screech entirely, proclaiming victory, it broke free and spun to face him again.

Better prepared this time, Leo drew upon Brynhildr’s reserves again, looking up to aim once more and this time feeling his spell falter for a different reason entirely as he met the eyes of his foe.

He did not battle a grotesque beast, like the Faceless he had contested at the head of his first command nearly a year and a half ago. Nor was he calculating casualties and tactics of nameless and featureless soldiers, doing his best to minimize casualties while still knowing there would _be_ casualties and letting his eyes glaze over their faces so he might have hope of ever sleeping again.

His enemy had a face, with wild locks of close-cropped blond hair and dark amber eyes that narrowed with hate; and Leo happened to know that her name was Scarlet.

Some part of him exclaimed in surprise that the daughter of Cheve’s governor had taken to the field herself, even with the knowledge that Nohr had fielded both of her princes on that day. Scarlet was not royalty, as Leo was; she did not bear the blood of dragons in her veins as he did and the advantages that brought.

For that moment, he thought—jarringly—of his siblings. Not the siblings which still stood by him now, the three related by blood and the one that wasn’t; but of those scarcely remembered, who had lost their lives one way or another during the throes of their own mothers’ depravity.

All of those thoughts flashed through his mind in a breath, Brynhildr still alight in Leo’s hands and Scarlet’s wyvern still hovering above him, the glinting edge of her axe just visible under the Nohrian blood which already coated it.

_“LORD LEO!”_

The shout came a moment before the shot, and if Leo hadn’t immediately recognized Niles’s voice then the feather-tipped shaft now sprouting a few inches from the eye of Scarlet’s wyvern would have identified him anyway.

With a blood-curdling _scream,_ the beast contorted, batting at the arrow with its wing and too hurt and panicked to realize just how quickly it was losing altitude. A look of terror crossed Scarlet’s features, some indecipherable shout rising to her lips, but Leo didn’t tarry long enough to figure out what it had been.

He spurred Skoll back into a gallop, aiming him toward where he could see Niles and Silas ahead, then swerving to the right as he caught sight of familiar woods.

 _There!_ he thought, pulling his brother’s horse up short and hopping from his back. As soon as he did, a thrumming tingle rose from the earth into his feet and up his spine.

With a short sigh of relief, Leo stepped forward.

“Lord Leo?” came a ventured voice, this time belonging to Silas. The young knight had Hati in hand, Leo noted gratefully, rather impressed his stallion had contented himself to be wrangled by someone other than him. “Er, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Leo answered in a clipped tone, continuing to pace with his head tilted absently to one side. “How’s Xander?”

“He’ll be all right,” Niles said, coming up beside Silas even as he gave Hati a wide berth. “Sent us back to you—May I ask just what, Lord Leo, are you doing?”

Leo glanced up, the edge of a triumphant smile on his face. “There’s a Dragon Vein here,” he announced. “I’m going to use it on the wall.”

Niles let out a whistle at that, while Silas looked as though he didn’t know where to be confused or impressed.

Leo returned to mostly ignoring both of them, feeling the strongest point of the Dragon Vein now beneath his feet. Brynhildr had never fallen completely closed in the last few minutes, but now it opened in his hands once more, practically vibrating from the sheer power emanating from beneath it.

The magic of a Dragon Vein was strong enough to alter terrain without even a tome to power through—in conjunction with one of the divine weapons, Leo thought, he ought to have _more_ than enough power to blow a hole in the wall.

So he did.

He peered through the edge of the woods surrounding him now, locking eyes on the company he’d left a minute ago, and aimed for the crack he no longer had a visual for outside of his mind.

For a moment, the distance was too great to see if anything happened; Leo wondered if his entire idea really _had_ been unusable.

A great, rocking _boom_ sounded, a section of the wall exploding outward with enough force to shatter the mortar and spray anyone within range with shrapnel. A tremendous tree rose from the wreckage, so large Leo wasn’t sure a wyvern’s wingspan could wrap around its trunk, yet he’d scarcely had a moment to marvel at the sight of it when the wall buckled outward again.

Down the line came another tree, no smaller than the first and doing no less damage. Then another, and _another._ The beginnings of panic rising in his throat, Leo clapped Brynhildr shut—he was hardly even in control of the spell in the first place anymore and gods only knew how far it would go if he didn’t put an end to it.

By the time he’d down that, though, the line had extended nearly as far as he could see, the Chevois border wall in ruins, an ancient forest having risen in its place in a matter of mere moments.

No one spoke, or dared to move—it seemed even the battle outside had frozen as Nohrian and Chevois alike stared in various mixes of awe and horror.

Silas finally broke the silence with a particularly eloquent statement regarding consecrated bodily waste.

Leo swallowed, resisting the urge to bark a nervous laugh—he hadn’t really just _done that,_ had he?

“Well,” Niles drawled. “It seems we’ve penetrated the back door, haven’t we?”

That, at least, snapped Leo out of it, the prince rolling his eyes as he reached for Hati’s reins. Skoll would know well enough to return to the rear lines, so there was no point wasting time in leading him back. “Come on,” he said. “The distraction’s not going to last forever.”

“Yeah, but the damage might,” Silas said, his tone still incredulous.

Leo tossed Hati’s reins back over his head, preparing to issue his next orders only to find they stuck in his throat.

What _were_ his orders?

He knew what Xander would do, given the circumstances. They’d breach the wall, conquer it, hold it. They would regather their troops, care for the wounded, and sit on the border wall until Xander deemed them ready to push forward. A day or two, perhaps.

He knew what Iago would do, as well. Iago would hold the wall, but not to tend to their own. He’d do it to salt the earth, and break the backs and spirits of their foes. Another day or two.

But the problem with _both_ of those, Leo thought, despite any advantages they offered, was _time._ Every moment they spent at the wall was a moment Cheve had to gather their forces elsewhere. Every man they gathered was another they had to battle and likely another they had to kill.

Perhaps, Leo thought, their best choice wasn’t to wait at all.

Settling back into the saddle—and far more grateful for a saddle than he had been two hours ago—Leo urged Hati back out of the treeline with one thought at the front of his mind.

He was not Iago, and nor was he Xander.

_“Soldiers of Nohr! We march on Chevalier!”_


	3. Tell Me The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Leo asks himself uncomfortable questions.

_Can we disarm the loaded gun, can we survive what we’ve become? The hate is slowly choking me…_

**Chevalier, Cheve, Nohr**

Chevalier fell in three days, and the rest of Cheve on its heels.

The Nohrian army, battered and bruised, had camped themselves firmly in the capital city, placing it under iron-fisted martial law. It was yet to be seen how long they would remain, and how long the kingdom’s princes would linger before they were called back to Windmire.

Xander had been well enough to return to the battle on the final day, but those who whispered among the rank and file almost universally agreed the victory had been Leo’s. They spoke of his feats at the wall as though the bards would sing of them for centuries.

Leo himself hadn’t decided if he was proud of that fact or not yet.

Now, though, he found himself shoving through a messy, sweaty, and increasingly intoxicated crowd of soldiers; martial law, evidently, did not apply to those enforcing it, judging by the looted state of the bar this particular squadron had taken over. Leo did his best not to think of whatever Chevois livelihoods his soldiers were currently ruining—if those who depended on this business even yet lived at all.

It was the way things were, after all.

The thought left a sour taste in his mouth.

Leo did not cut quite the imposing figure that Xander might have, but his last growth spurt had seen him clearing six feet, and with the benefit of the armor he hadn’t quite dared to take off yet more than a few people went stumbling out of his way with varying degrees of grace—as well as varying degrees of inebriation. One such red-faced man—built like a house with hair so closely cropped to his head it was impossible to tell its true color—all but stumbled into Leo, holding out a sloshing glass of amber liquid. “To the prince victorious,” he slurred, reaching as if to press the glass into Leo’s hands.

“No, thank you,” Leo said, both from his utter lack of desire to partake and the long-ingrained instincts of the cutthroat Nohrian court that rendered him almost compulsively unable to accept a drink he hadn’t seen poured, no matter how innocent the intentions appeared to be.

He tried to sidestep the man, but the gesture didn’t quite work how he’d planned. “Guess that everyone… everyone will think twice about treason with you around, huh?” the soldier said, swaying a little as he stayed even with Leo. He paused, then barked a laugh. “Ha, ‘tree-son.’ Get it?”

Leo offered him a tight smile, managing to duck to one side and to freedom as someone came by with a tray of drinks. Dusk Dragon, how had he even ended up in the middle of that in the first place? He couldn’t even remember what he’d gone into the building for, now.

Even the first freezing breath of January air was a relief compared to the too-warm press of bodies inside. Stars glinted over his head, hanging around a not-quite-full moon, and Leo sucked in what felt like his first full breath of the night. He would take the risk of running into disgruntled Chevois over being stuck inside that den of drunken revelry.

Leo made it to the edge of a cracked fountain, half-empty with its remains frozen in the night before a voice that almost seemed to read his mind reached him. “You’re liable to get your head done in, out by yourself.”

Leo spun toward the back of the fountain, Brynhildr aglow in his hands. Its light cast the face across from him into eerie relief. “Scarlet,” he murmured, not quite hiding the surprise in his tone.

“Your _Highness,”_ she replied, and her own voice did nothing to disguise the mocking inflection that granted his title none of its inherent respect.

Leo closed Brynhildr, keeping a palm on its warm cover even as it returned to its satchel. If Scarlet thought him now defenseless, she would be sorely mistaken. “Curfew went into effect forty-five minutes ago,” he informed her with a lift of his chin.

Scarlet merely barked a laugh in response. “What are you going to do, then? Kill me? Say I was reaching for a weapon? Claim self-defense?”

Leo buried a wince, his voice low. “You must know I never intended for your friend to die that day.”

“No,” Scarlet said flatly. “I don’t know that at all. And frankly, after the last few days, even if I did I think that I’d be questioning it by now.”

“I did what I had to,” Leo replied.

“See,” Scarlet continued, as if she hadn’t heard him. “There’s one _big_ difference between you and me. I fight for my people, and for my freedom, and for what’s right. You fight because your daddy told you to.”

“You are treading dangerously close to lèse-majesté, Scarlet,” Leo warned, trying to ward off the increasing feeling she had him on the back foot.

“So _kill me!”_ she snapped again. “Isn’t that what Nohr does anyways? Come in, conquer, kill anybody who might have influence or raise a fuss? Whip their backs until they break? Isn’t the whole problem here that Cheve never fell in line like a good little territory like Diabola did? You already killed my dad, why not take care of his progeny too before anyone starts holding _me_ up for their new symbol of rebellion?”

Leo’s eyes narrowed. He’d heard that Cybalt had died at the wall, but he hadn’t given it more than a passing concern as to who his father would use to replace him. “Your father’s death would have been prevented had he not turned to open aggression.”

A long moment passed before Scarlet answered. “Wow,” she said. “You really _do not_ get it, do you? Will plain language help?” She stepped closer, pointing a finger. “We won’t give up. We won’t surrender. We will fight you until you get the hell back out or until you wipe us off the map. We will make our stand until you get tired of throwing soldiers at us. And one day we’re going to be free.” She held her arms out. “So kill me now, Prince Leo, or I swear to every god you hold dear I will make you live to regret it.”

A long moment passed. “I’ll take that chance,” Leo said coldly.

“So be it.” Scarlet turned as if to go, before facing him again. “One more thing. I lost my father and my boyfriend at the wall. I’ll give you a pass on my wyvern, because he’s down an eye but he’s still alive. Still. Cybalt and Jacques. I want you to remember their names, because the next time you see me on the battlefield I’ll be thinking of them.”

She met his gaze for a moment more, flipped him an especially rude gesture, and disappeared once more into the night.

~~~

**Castle Krakenburg, Windmire, Nohr**

Leo, Xander, and Iago—along with Niles and Silas—had scarcely arrived and put their horses up in the stables of Castle Krakenburg when the sound of light but pounding footsteps reached them.

“Oh, _Leo!”_ Elise cried, rounding the corner just as Leo stepped out of Hati’s stall before launching into him with enough force to send him staggering back against the front of it. “Congratulations!”

“Eh?” Leo managed, disentangling himself from his younger sister enough to rub at the spot on his shoulder that had taken the brunt of her hit. He shot Xander a glance to see if his brother knew what the fuss was about, but only got a blank look in return.

A lower chuckle reached them just before Camilla strode down the aisleway as well. “You’ll pardon if my enthusiasm isn’t to _quite_ the same level,” she began, holding her arms out, “but trust that my sentiments are the same, little brother.”

 _“Ack,”_ Leo couldn’t quite help but say as she caught him in an equally bone-crushing hug before, _mortifyingly,_ dropping a kiss to the top of his head. Seven hells, he was nearly as tall as she was now too, or at least he would be if she weren’t wearing a ridiculously high set of heeled boots. _“Camilla.”_

Blessedly, she pulled away in the final moments before Leo’s ribs cracked, though she kept her hands on his shoulders and gazed at him. “Oh, look at you,” she cooed. “You sweet thing, all grown and doing us proud.”

“Is there something I’m missing here?” Leo asked, resisting the urge to rub at his cheeks in a vain attempt to cool them down.

“Don’t play dumb, Leo!” Elise said, sticking her lower lip out in a pout and propping her hands on her hips. “You know what we’re talking about!” 

A beat passed before Leo said, “Actually, I really don’t.”

“Oh, dear,” Camilla said, the edge of a frown pulling on her features. “I don’t suppose Father’s letter got lost, did it?”

Elise’s eyes went wide. “You really don’t know?” she asked, then gasped when Leo shook his head. “Oh, Camilla, let me tell him, _please!”_

“Tell me what?” Leo asked, his suspicions growing by the moment.

“Go ahead, dear,” Camilla said, her tone indulgent.

Elise’s next words, though, were among the last Leo had expected.

“You’re a _knight,_ Leo!”

Leo blinked, twice, then shot another glance at Xander, who this time had the faintest ghost of a smile on his features. Elise stood on her tiptoes, hands clasped together in front of her chest, while Camilla seemed to be reaching for her handkerchief.

“Well, you will be a knight, come the winter solstice,” Camilla corrected gently. “But knighted you will be. Oh, and at the same age Xander was, too.”

“Father’s _so_ proud of you!” Elise said, reaching forward to tug on Leo’s hands. “We heard about the wall and everything, you used a _Dragon Vein,_ didn’t you? Are the trees still there? We heard the trees are still there!”

“The trees are still there,” Leo answered dully, his thoughts still struggling to keep pace with the conversation. He wondered if he should admit that he’d done his best to remedy that on their journey back north and found himself unable to figure out a counterspell. It seemed the border wall would have a forest growing through it for the foreseeable future.

A hand landed on his shoulder, then. “Well done, Leo,” Xander said in a low tone, looking genuinely pleased for the first time since he’d lost his retainers.

A lump rose to Leo’s throat. He was to be a _knight—_ a proper knight of Nohr. A title that, unlike his royal one, he had personally _earned_ rather than been born into.

“I suppose congratulations are in order, then,” Iago suddenly drawled, leaning over the front of Garmr’s stall with a casual facade.

And just like that, the bubble burst.

“Thank you,” Leo said tightly, then hauled his saddle into his arms and started down the aisle toward his and Xander’s tack room.

Yes, he’d earned this title—but _how_ had he earned it? Through Nohr’s unending bloodthirst and through winning a battle against a people who only wished to defend their home?

As suddenly as the knowledge had come to him, the thought only succeeded in turning his stomach.

“...and there’s going to be a _parade,”_ Elise was saying, bouncing at Leo’s elbow. “A parade, for you! And Father’s going to give you a medal! And then, come the solstice, you’ll be knighted for real!” She skipped ahead then spun to face him, forcing him to pull up short. “Isn’t it _exciting?”_

For his sister’s sake, Leo forced a smile to his face. “Very exciting,” he agreed.

~~~

True to Elise’s word, a week after Leo arrived back in Windmire, there had indeed been a parade. Leo could remember the same from the years Xander and Camilla had been knighted, but being at the forefront himself had been something else entirely.

Now—after returning to Krakenburg and, with much pomp, having his name officially added to the list of upcoming fourth-year squires to be knighted that winter—Leo stood in the dark, cloak pulled tightly around him as he turned over a Nohrian Star in his hand.

Even through his gloves, the five points of the silver medal bit into his palm every time he twisted it. Xander had two Nohrian Stars, he remembered. Camilla had earned one as well. He knew Garon had a handful, from when his father was younger and still took to the battlefield himself. Xander had tried to have Asmund and Viola granted one each, posthumously, but his efforts seemed to have come to a hopeless halt with all that had lately been happening in Cheve.

Leo turned his medal again and stared out over the black velvet water.

This deep in the bottommost layers of Castle Krakenburg, the sun only shone for a bare few minutes at high noon. Now, well past dusk, he would have scarcely been able to see at all were it not for the pinpoint lights drifting down from the layers above. Occasionally, he could just catch a whisper from up top, the only indication of the party still being held in his honor.

_“I fight for my people, and for my freedom, and for what’s right. You fight because your daddy told you to.”_

Leo hadn’t fully admitted to himself until that moment just how much his conversation with Scarlet had haunted him. _Lèse-majesté,_ he’d called it, but just how right had she been?

Did Leo fight because he truly believed and agreed with Nohr’s position, or did he fight simply because he dared not defy his father by refusing?

The latter meant he was a coward. The former meant he was a warmonger.

Leo turned the medal in his hand.

Another thought occurred to him then, perhaps an odd one. Leo was half Chevois himself, for all that the bloodline had little bearing on him now. But his mother had been from Cheve—from Cheve’s royal family, as a matter of fact—a spoil of war taken when his father had conquered it the first time.

What if, by some twist of fate, Leo had not been born and raised in Nohr and hence as its second prince? Would he have fought on the other side of the wall that day, battling to defend his home rather than coming in to bring a wayward territory back into line?

He would not have had Brynhildr, if that were the case. Would he have even been a sorcerer in the first place, without the pressure to escape Xander’s shadow pushing him down the path of a mage? Another, more sobering thought surfaced—without being forced into the brutalities of Nohrian court that had ultimately taken her life, would Leo’s mother have yet lived?

He shuddered at that thought and sent a silent prayer of thanks that she did not.

But ultimately, Leo’s questions came to one: if such a hypothetical other Leo—raised in Cheve—stood before him now, would he even recognize himself? Or would he merely be as disgusted as Scarlet had been by the sorcerous prince with a heart of stone?

“Bit dank down here, isn’t it?” came an unfortunately familiar voice. “I thought you would be enjoying your own festivities.”

Leo didn’t give Iago the satisfaction of turning around, even if it did make the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “I thought you were supposed to be heading to Diabola,” he said.

“In the morning,” Iago replied, moving to stand beside him. “It would have been unseemly of me to miss celebrating your good fortune, Your Highness.”

“Of course,” Leo replied dryly.

A long silence dragged out before Iago spoke again. “Rather interesting good fortune, wouldn’t you think? Rewarded for taking command of a battle that wasn’t yours in the first place. A lesser man could have been executed for the same.”

Leo shot him a sidelong glance. “Xander ordered me to take command. There was nothing out of turn about it.”

“You defied my orders before you received his,” Iago said, his voice dropping dangerously low. “With incredible insubordination, I might add. I would have had anyone else brought before a court-martial.”

“I wouldn’t try, if I were you,” Leo warned. “You might lose face with my father. Or worse than your face, really.”

“Oh, no,” Iago agreed. “I won’t try.”

Neither spoke for a long moment. “Did you want something from me, Iago?” Leo finally asked.

“Not especially, no,” Iago replied. “Just to remind you that the next time it might not end so well for you, crossing me.”

Despite the nigh-overwhelming urge to reach for Brynhildr, Leo managed to keep his voice level. “Is that a threat?”

“Oh, Your Highness,” Iago drawled. “Threats come with the territory, do they not? Just ask His Majesty. After all, you are so _very much_ your father’s son.”

And with that, as quickly as he’d come, Iago was gone.

Leo stared at the shadow where he’d been for a painfully long moment, forcing his breathing to stay even. Finally, he let out a shuddering sigh and let his shoulders slump.

He’d already known Iago was likely to be an enemy someday. It was nice to have confirmation, at least.

Still.

_So very much your father’s son._

Leo thought of Cheve, and of Scarlet, and of Princess Kamui of Hoshido locked away in her Nohrian tower, and realized such a comparison sickened him more than any other that had ever been made about him.

 _No more,_ he thought, despite the fact he hadn’t a clue how he planned on stopping what he was already halfway to becoming.

Leo turned the medal over in his hands one more time, then swung his arm back and arched his Nohrian Star into the lake.

_Tell me the truth though it hurts, we live in a world and it’s cursed, but our generation will have separation, we’re fearless…_


End file.
